


Leap, Fall, Fly

by malcyon



Series: Nights and Days [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alfred Is Tired Of Tim's Shit, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Damian's A Good Friend, Gen, M/M, Making Out, Pancakes, Pining, Sexy Times, Some angst, but it's all good, canon makes me sad so I get to pick what happens here, hopeless boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 03:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18229037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malcyon/pseuds/malcyon
Summary: He tries to use his voice, “You have one of my shirts?” Tim looks at him, amused.“Dude, I have, like, four.”*****Kon figures some stuff out. Tim helps.





	Leap, Fall, Fly

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out way longer than I originally planned, but eh. 
> 
> This is some weird canon mixture of my own creation, mostly because I wanted Kon to be an awesome older brother to Jon.  
> I also think that him having to come up with a new hero identity would be pretty interesting. (Also take note that I will constantly be editing this work because it's going to be part of a larger series and I want to make sure everything transitions between pieces smoothly. Nothing major will change, just little tweaks here and there as I write the other stuff.)
> 
> So here we are.

Kon kinda wishes he hadn’t come to Gotham tonight.

The pavement below shines with reflected street light thanks to the freezing rain, because the weather in this city _sucks._  And there’s a creepy chill in the air that seems to be unique only to Gotham that’s been making him shiver for the past hour. But Tim had called, asking if he wanted to patrol, and there was no way in _hell_ Kon was turning that down or leaving halfway through the night.

Even if he can’t feel his feet anymore.

He runs a hand through his hair, ignoring how cold water streams down his neck from the motion. He tries very hard not to look over at where his best friend is currently crouching on the edge of the building they’re staking out on. He seems to be trying to not look at Tim a lot these days. Trying to focus on anything else.

A few blocks away, a lady is yelling at her cat for knocking over a houseplant.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Tim roll his shoulders back smoothly.

Kon huffs out a frustrated puff of air and examines a trash can in the alley below. Part of him feels like he should say something, but he doesn't know what. He doesn't know what to say to his best friend most of the time these days.

Despite that, he’s been stealing moments with Tim outside of the team whenever he could since he’d gotten back from being dead, or _whatever_ it was he had been. What Kon _hadn’t_ been, was there to see the results of his death (and so, _so_ many others) on his best friend. Hadn’t been there to see Tim fall apart and then forge himself into something stronger than what he’d been as Robin.

A rat skitters over the garbage lid; he watches it blankly.

He knows that Tim had shattered while he was dead, had put himself back together piece by piece until he was almost whole again. And even now he acts _fine_ , enough so that no one gets too close to see where he's falling apart at the edges. 

But sometimes Kon will catch Tim staring at him like he’s about to disappear. Will catch the too fast, the _scared_ heartbeat of his best friend.

And it makes Kon want to scream or punch something, blame someone for not _helping—_ It makes him want to hold onto Tim and tell him he’s not going away ever, _ever_ again; 'cause who else is gonna stay up with him to binge-watch Wendy movies and eat junk food until two in the morning? Hell, they don’t even have to do that; Kon would be down with anything that would get rid of the sad look in Tim’s eyes.

And this isn’t even counting all the _bullshit_ with the assassins and Bruce dying and coming back and how strained things still are between Tim and Dick and how there’s a new Robin along with a new Superboy and—

Kon glares at the brick wall across the alley. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t care that Jon had donned the costume. Yeah, his little brother has done more than earned it, but it _hurts_ knowing that he’d missed that _too._

Plus now he has to come up with a new hero name.

He shivers again and scuffs his foot against the ground. Carefully, he glances over at Tim, whose masked eyes are still examining the dark corners below their building. Kon sorta hopes that something happens so he could at least move around a bit.

He wonders if that’s unethical then decides that he’s too cold to do any further introspection about himself.

Kon whines instead, “Hey, Red Robin.”

There’s no answer from the other boy—not even a twitch.

“Red. Robbie. Rob. R—”

Tim lets out a long sigh and Kon grins at him. “What?”

“I’m bored.”

“And?”

“And I’m cold.”

“And?”

“And I’m _hungry_ , dude. I want some of Agent A’s cookies.”

Tim looks over at him, and Kon floats a few inches off the ground, giving his best puppy-dog eyes. He’s pretty sure Tim raises an eyebrow under the mask, but Kon tilts his head anyway, mimicking the face Jon gives adults when he has to go to bed but _the movie will be done in ten minutes, come one, pleeeeease._

Tim sighs again, in either amusement or exasperation Kon’s not sure. But he does stand up, so Kon gives himself a mental high five.

“Not like anything’s going on anyway.”

Kon doesn’t even bother to hide his beaming smile.

“Fly back?” Tim shrugs in agreement and jumps down from his brooding perch, steps light on the rooftop. Kon lowers himself to the ground, carefully picks up the other boy, and is suddenly _very much_ aware of how Tim smells like rain and some sort of really nice body wash. He probably takes off a little too quickly, but he blames it on wanting to get out of the cold.

Tim makes a startled noise and throws an arm around Kon’s shoulders, and Kon curses at himself briefly before wrapping Tim up in his TTK, stabilizing him. The other boy relaxes but doesn’t seem to find it necessary to remove his grip, and Kon decides that focusing on flying is a really great idea. At the very least, it’s better than running into a street lamp.

He’s been in Gotham enough now to know how to get to the Manor from anywhere in the city, and the lights blur together as he goes faster and faster, raindrops splashing against his face.

To be honest, Kon has no idea if he's even allowed to be  _in_ the Bat's city; he certainly wasn't given an invitation. But Tim's been dragging him here more and more lately, and since he hasn't been stabbed with a kryptonite batarang yet, Kon's not going to ask any questions. Maybe Tim had just worn Bruce down, maybe Dick had changed the man's mind; which would make sense since Kon has definitely seen Wally running through the streets several times the past few months. 

Tim's laugh draws him out of his head, the sound vibrating through Kon’s chest and he lets out a whoop as they dodge buildings all the way to the Manor.

The rain has thoroughly soaked both of them by the time they enter the tunneled entrance to the Cave, but Kon can’t find it in him to care as he lands, still snickering, on the floor. Tim is grinning wildly as he steps out of Kon’s arms and takes off the Red Robin mask, his wet hair dripping down into his face until he runs a gauntleted hand through it. It sticks up in a bunch of spikes and Kon bursts into laughter.

Tim scowls at him and shakes his head, water droplets flying everywhere and making it even worse.

Kon bites his lip, barely toning down his sniggers, and steps forward. “Dude, stop; that’s not helping.” Tim glares. Kon rolls his eyes and, before he lets himself think about it too much, drags his hands through Tim’s hair, managing to calm it down enough to look presentable.

Tim’s skin is warmer than he thought it’d be, and his hair is thick with water and getting long. Kon likes it; his friend looks older, different in a way that makes Kon wanna stare at him. He wonders if anyone else notices like Kon does. Girls on the street certainly do whenever they go out as civilians, their stares catching on Tim's form, his sharp eyes. The thought makes his stomach sour. 

Tim blinks, surprised with the contact maybe, but only gives Kon a quiet grin and doesn’t say anything.

Kon wants to beat his forehead against a wall.

The other boy unexpectedly takes a step back and surveys him with narrowed eyes. “You’re soaked.”

“So are you,” he points out, but Tim waves the observation aside.

“Yeah, but I’m taking this off—” Part of Kon’s brain is suddenly filled with some very exciting images—“and changing into something else. But you don’t exactly have any of your clothes here.”

Kon tries to ignore the pictures in his head, but the tips of his ears still feel hot when he manages, “Am I staying the night?”

The atmosphere changes and Kon suddenly feels like he’s blundering through something that should be handled by someone who understands their own feelings. Tim opens his mouth, then pauses before continuing, “You don’t have to, I mean, if you have things you need to do then you should go, but the storm is gonna get really bad so—”

“No!” Kon definitely did not yelp. He clears his throat. “No, I’ll call Ma, but I should be in the clear. It’s a Friday so, you know, I can do the important chores later this weekend.”

Tim slowly nods. “Yeah, yeah, tell her I said hi. I’m going to get out of this suit; I’ll be right back.”

Kon isn't sure if he imagines the sudden stiffness to Tim’s shoulders as he walks away to some other part of the cave to change or not. He watches for a second, wanting to say something _else_ even if he doesn't know  _what._  But he only pulls out his burner phone and taps out Ma’s number, pointedly ignoring the unexpected awkwardness in the air. She picks up by the second ring.

“Hello?” There’s the sound of crickets and Krypto’s barking behind her voice, and Kon smiles a little bit for no particular reason.

“Hey, Ma. There’s a storm passing through Gotham, so it’s cool if I stay the night at the Manor, right?”

“Of course, Conner. I’m guessing that you’re with Tim?”

“Yeah, he says ‘Hi’ by the way. I promise I’ll try to go to sleep at a decent time tonight.”

She hums at him over the phone, amused. “I’m sure you will.” Kon hears her take in a breath, then hesitate.

“Ma?”

“How . . . are things with Tim?”

He straightens up even though she can’t see him.

“I—What?”

“How is he?”

“Uh, he’s okay, busy. I think he’s running himself a little ragged.”

“I’m not surprised. You'll need to bring him over for dinner.”

“For dinner?” Kon's pretty sure he's missing something that should be obvious. 

“The last time he came over feels like ages ago, and things between you two have seemed rather . . . _tense_.”

“What—How?”

She hesitates again. “It just feels like you both have something to say to each other.”

His heart stumbles, breath catching in his throat.

"I don't—"

"I've seen the way you look at him, dear."

His brain scratches to a stop.

She continues thoughtfully, "You're always talking about him, you did even while you were dating that Cassie girl. And I know how much time you've been spending with him lately, with the team and all." She's quiet for a moment. "You're sweet on him, aren't you?"

The question hangs in the air, and Kon struggles to  _breathe_.

"I . . . “ He swallows weakly. “Maybe. Just a little. You know.”

”Really?! I was _so_ sure you two—" 

"We're not together!" The words come out strangled as his ears burn from the teasing in her tone. Ma sighs over the phone.

"Well, I know  _that_. If you were you'd have _brought him over for dinner._ "

Oh.

He licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. "You think I should . . . "

"Talk to him? _Yes_ , I think you should."

"But what if he doesn't—"

"He does. Trust me, dear, he does." Kon opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He thinks of the way Tim’s hair felt against his hands and the haunted look in his eyes that sometimes appears when nobody is paying attention. Ma continues softly, “He’s a _good_ boy and I know what he means to you, Conner. Talk to him.”

He nods at the ground. “Yeah . . . Yeah, I will. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and tell Alfred I want him to send me his recipe for snickerdoodles, and in return, I’ll give him my instructions for blueberry pie.”

A weak laugh comes out of his chest. “Okay, Ma.”

“Don’t stay up all night,” she chuckles and then says softly, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

She hangs up.

He puts his phone away and stares at the chittering bats on the ceiling high above.

Kon _knows_ that he and Tim have been dancing around having a real talk for months. And it's _weird_ because they used to be able to say anything to each other. But now it’s like they’re walking on a tightrope, carefully balancing so they don’t fall into a chasm of complicated feelings beneath them.

The truth is that Tim and Kon don’t _click_ the way they had before. Like some piece of their puzzle has been flipped, and an entirely new picture created. And Kon has no idea what to do about it. 'Cause they’ve always been close. Before Kon had died, they’d been the best of friends, trusted one another with their secrets, their goddamn _lives_. Tim had covered his back and he had covered Tim’s. Even when the team was together, they were the ones who had stuck to each other’s sides like glue.

But then Kon had gone and gotten himself killed.

He knew that after he died the team had lost it. Cassie had joined a _cult_ and Tim had—

Kon’s throat suddenly feels way too tight.

He looks down at the ground.

But then Kon had come _back._ And, yeah, they’re still best friends, but now there’s something else there. Something that both of them have been dutifully ignoring for months now and that Kon wasn’t too keen on bringing up, messing with their delicate balance.

Though if Ma had noticed the tension between them . . . They really had to talk.

“Just to let you know, the house is gonna be basically empty tonight, it’s only us, Alfred, and Damian.” Tim’s voice comes from behind him, and Kon nearly jumps. He spins around to see his friend in some old work out clothes, rubbing his head on a towel.

Kon stares at him in disbelief.

“You’re telling me that your entire family all had things to do tonight _except_ for the Bat Brat?” Tim grins at him from underneath the towel and something in Kon’s chest grows warm.

“Yeah, Dick’s patrolling Bludhaven, Jason’s blowing some buildings up, the girls decided to go on a weekend trip to Japan, and Bruce is in Italy for sudden business stuff.”

“And the reason Damian hasn’t included himself in any of these activities is?”

“He’s sick.”

Kon nearly snickers.

“You’re shitting me. There’s no way he’d let getting _sick_ stop him from doing any of that.”

Tim laughs and shakes his head. “Both Bruce and Dick threatened him with being benched if he went anywhere this weekend.”

Kon whistles. Direct orders from the Bat weren’t to be taken lightly. “I’m guessing that went well.”

Tim shrugs and puts the towel around his neck. “Not as bad as you would think. I mean, he was definitely in a pissy mood, but I think Jon is rubbing off on him. There wasn’t as much yelling as there could have been. But he was also totally out of it, so I’m giving credit to his cold and not development of character.” Tim throws the towel on a nearby table and starts walking up the stairs to go into the house, Kon floating after him.

Tim leads him through several hallways filled with family pictures that Kon knows his friend probably took when none of his said family was paying attention. One snags his eye and he pauses to get a better look. It's of Tim and Cass throwing pillows at each other inside one of the Manor’s many guest rooms. Whoever took the photo had good timing; they had caught Tim mid-laugh, eyes bright as they watched Cass bring a pillow down on his head.

Kon examines it for a second longer before the sound of Tim’s footsteps brings him back to the present.

He doesn’t look at any more pictures.

The kitchen is one of Kon’s favorite places in the house; it’s cozy despite its size, painted with pale yellows and creamy whites, and usually contains some kind of treat Alfred's whipped up. He hovers in the doorway, breathing in the warmth as Tim opens up one of the many cupboards and grabs a tin of what Kon hopes has cookies in it. He resists the urge to do a mid-air flip when he’s proven correct and Tim hands him the container while he starts to make tea.

The awkwardness from earlier has transformed into something comfortable and familiar, and Kon floats cross-legged and watches as Tim pours water into a pot and sets it to boil.

He takes a sweet from the tin and bites into it, the cookie melting on his tongue. He moans quietly because  _food_  and glances back up at his friend. Tim is facing the stove, shoulders suddenly rigid and Kon's eyes snag on the bright pink color his ears are turning.

Then he notices that Tim didn’t manage to dry his hair all the way, and Kon watches as a drop of water rolls down the back of his neck.

He swallows his cookie.

“Hey, so, I—I need some advice.” Kon isn't sure what to do with his hands, and he ends up lightly tapping the box with his fingers. Tim turns around, his brow furrowed in slight concern, the pink quickly fading from his ears.

“With what?”

Kon stares at the granite island below where he’s floating. He brings himself down until he sits on it with his legs hanging over the side, towards Tim but not quite looking him in the eyes. “I need to come up with a new hero identity.”

Tim’s gaze widens a tiny bit with realization before a smirk spreads on his face. “Does this mean a new outfit? Because you need a new outfit.”

Kon drops his mouth open, only to shut it and scowl. “What’s wrong with this?” He gestures to his damp t-shirt and jeans.

Tim gives him a _look_.

“Do you know how many shirts you go through?”

“They’re easily replaceable!”

“So many. I can’t begin to tell you how many shirts I’ve seen you lose on missions. And in the tower. And on the farm. And—why do you even wear them at this point?”

Kon huffs and glares at him. “At least help me come up with a new name.”

There’s the sound of dog nails on wood and a subdued sneeze, and Tim’s gaze locks on something behind him. Kon twists around and Damian meets his stare coolly, even though Kon can see the circles under the kid’s eyes and his raw nose. Shit.

“A new name for exactly what, clone?”

Tim sighs and goes to grab another mug as Titus weaves around his legs. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Damian scrunches his nose with distaste. “I’ve been in bed all day, Drake.”

“The more you rest up, the sooner you get back to patrolling with Superboy,” Kon points out and Damian shoots him a half-hearted glower. Since becoming friends with Jon and more tolerant of Tim, Damian had grown used to Kon’s presence and quips. Kon is pretty sure that Damian isn't pleased about this.

“Is that what you’re doing? Finally moving on from Superboy and creating a new identity?” Damian plops down on one of the counter’s stools and sniffles. Kon offers him the tin of sweets. The kid sighs and takes it without a snarky comment.

No wonder Bruce had made him stay home.

“Yeah, trying to at least.”

Tim hums in thought, “You going to keep ‘Super’ in the name, or not?”

“It would be moronic if you didn’t,” Damian states, but doesn’t look up from where he’s currently feeding Titus a cookie. Kon cocks his head and resists the urge to swing his legs back and forth like a kid deciding what kind of ice cream he wants.

“It’d be weird if I don’t, but considering how both Superman and Superboy are taken, well . . .”

Tim considers him for a moment. “Superdude.”

“No.”

“Superguy?”

“I don’t care how bad that storm is out there; I will fly home if I have to.”

“Superlad.”

“Drake, I will set Titus on you.”

“Eat your cookie, Demon Brat.”

Damian ignores the order and glances at Kon like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to make the words come out the right way. He nibbles on his lip before speaking, “Jon’s been thinking about your predicament.” He rubs Titus’s head gently. “I believe he feels guilty about taking the Superboy mantle away from you.”

Kon sits up straighter, about to do what, he doesn’t know; but then a hand on his shoulder makes him stop, glance up. Tim is looking at Damian, focused, eyes intent. It takes Kon a moment to go back at the kid, who’s frowning at the cookie in his hand. He thinks for a second.

“He shouldn’t; he’s doing a great job, better than I ever did, really.” Damian glances up, still chewing on his lip, and Kon continues, “But I’ll talk to him about it.” He grins. “Thanks.”

The kid blinks and nods slowly. Tim squeezes his shoulder gently, and if Kon leans into it a bit, Tim doesn’t say anything. Damian, despite the haze of the cold in his eyes, picks up on it though and gives Kon a miniscule eyebrow raise when Tim turns around to shut off the boiling water.

Kon goes very still as Damian’s gaze flickers between him and Tim, his brain coming up with all sorts of images that involve kryptonite and swords and he's _already_ died once, he doesn't feel like doing it again, thanks. Damian gives him a narrow-eyed appraising look, and Kon suddenly feels like he's being put on a stand and analyzed from all angles; like a pros and cons list is forming about his existence and all he can do is watch as it's debated over.

Then Damian dips his head the tiniest bit and goes back to feeding Titus his cookie.

His chest relaxes. Damian looks up at him again, the sharp, calculating stare gone, and he's tapping his fingers on the counter idly.

“Jon also came up with a few names you could use.”

Oh, Kon is going to absolutely _smother_ his little brother with hugs the next time he sees him.

Damian gives Kon a thoughtful glance before continuing, “Though he did have a favorite.”

Tim sets down two mugs of tea in front of them, and leans forward on the counter with his forearms, hands clasped around his own cup. Kon can see the outline of his shoulder blades through his threadbare shirt. “What is it?”

Damian reaches for his mug. “I think it was called ‘Supernova.’”

Huh.

Tim looks up at Kon with a smile and a shrug. “I mean, I’m personally still a fan of Superdude, but that’s pretty good too, I guess.”

Kon snorts into his drink and Titus whines for another treat. Damian scoffs and hops down from the stool, cookie and tea in hand, and starts walking back to the hallway. Tim rolls his eyes and picks up the cookie tin to put it away. When his back is turned, Damian shoots Kon a puzzled look and glances between him and Tim again before muttering something in Arabic and turning out of the room.

“Go to sleep.” Tim calls after him, and Kon hears a disgruntled ‘tt’ and a sneeze as Titus follows the boy into the hall. Tim leans back on the counter next to the stove and takes a sip of his tea. “That went much better than I expected.”

Kon grins at him and lets his head drop back. The mug is cooling in his hands, and he wouldn’t mind taking a nap right now.

“I’m still calling you Superdude.” Kon’s not sure if he’d rather kick his best friend out the door or fly through the nearest window. Tim laughs at whatever expression is on Kon’s face. “Seriously though, you need a new outfit. Or at least one that’s waterproof.”

Right. 'Cause Kon’s still in his damp costume that smells like Gotham’s streets which is not the greatest thing ever, and warm clothes sounds like a nice idea. Tim takes Kon’s mug and puts the cups in the dishwasher. “Come on, I think I might have something that you can wear after all.”

Kon slides off the island and follows Tim out of the warm kitchen and up the huge flight of stairs that lead to the second floor and Tim’s bedroom.

He tries not to examine the pictures on the walls, but as they walk his gaze flickers to them anyway. The photos are authentic; bright moments captured by Tim’s camera and hung in the open halls of the Manor with pride.

Kon doesn’t know a lot about photography, but he does know that Tim is good. Really good. Able to snap little snippets of life and set them in frames in a way that's _real_. He could probably go professional if he wanted to, instead of the current CEO thing. Though Tim seems more than gleefull in torturing greasy businessmen, including  _Lex_  which still makes Kon nearly cackle, in the boardroom. 

Then he spots several photos that contain other people than just the Waynes.

There’s one of Clark, Diana, and Bruce in a city park, though Bruce’s smile seems a little strained since the other two had basically tackled him in a hug. Another that shows Wally graduating from Stanford, arms wrapped around Dick’s shoulders, laughing at some inside joke. Roy dozing on a couch in the library, Jason on the floor next to him, nose buried in a book.

There’s even one with _Krypto,_ the dog nearly buried under Titus with Alfred the cat snoozing at his paws.

He can’t help but stare at that picture, wondering how the hell Tim managed to creep up on the superdog without waking him. Maybe Krypto had heard him but hadn’t been concerned. Besides, the dog likes Tim.

Kon’s eyes glance over the photos again, before looking at where Tim is walking up ahead. He pauses for a second.

Are there any pictures of him?

He shakes his head slightly and goes down the hall.

Tim opens his door and Kon can’t help but let out a little breath of air like he always does when he sees Tim’s room. It’s _big,_ and Tim has his own bathroom, den, living area, balcony, and, most importantly, a giant flat-screen TV to play video games on. But Tim ignores all that and goes over to a dresser, Kon in tow, and begins rifling through the drawers, looking for something. Kon floats a bit, hands in his pockets.  

Then Tim holds up an article of clothing triumphantly and Kon’s brain _stops working_.

“Told you that you lose your shirts.” Tim grins at him, but Kon only manages a blink in return.

Because that is a Superboy shirt. One of _his_ Superboy shirts. Tim has one of his shirts. _Tim_ could have been _wearing his shirt._ Kon barely manages to catch the reason for his inner meltdown when Tim tosses the stupid thing at him.

He tries to use his voice, “You have one of my shirts?” Tim looks at him, amused.

“Dude, I have, like, four.”

Kon is fucked. He is _so_ irrevocably fucked.

“How did I not notice—”

“So many shirts, Kon. You go through. So. Many. Shirts.”

“But how did you even _get_ them?”

Tim shrugs almost sheepishly. “I don’t know. They just kinda appeared in my closet.” Kon nods dazedly and Tim frowns. “Don’t have any pants that will fit you though.”

“I’ll wear my boxers.”

Tim looks at him for a moment and stands up, stretching lazily. “So, whatcha wanna do?”

Kon stares at him and Tim grins and walks over to the TV console. Kon kicks off his shoes and begins to unbuckle his belt as Tim looks over his collection of games.

It kinda feels like they’re replaying a memory from before Kon died. Putting in a disc, hands wrapping around a controller; he’s pretty sure the night will play out with the same old bickering and arguments. Just like they’re sixteen again and everyone they care about is alive and only a phone call away.

But now there’s the tension from earlier creeping back into the air. Also, Kon is taking off his pants.

He snickers to himself.

Tim is calling out game suggestions, and Kon is really only half paying attention to the names. He pulls off his damp t-shirt and folds his clothes before putting them on the dresser because Ma’s tidiness habits seem to be wearing off on him.  

He wonders if there’ll be pancakes by the time he’s up. Hopefully, there will be because Alfred’s cooking is to die for. Healthier than Ma’s, sure, and not quite as hearty, but still mouthwatering.

It takes him a second to realize that Tim is no longer talking.

Kon glances up and freezes.

Tim is _staring_ at him, eyes roaming over his body with an expression that Kon can’t quite place and hasn’t ever seen before on the other boy. His gaze dips over Kon’s collar bone and down to the muscles on his chest and stomach, lingering. He meets Kon’s stare, and Kon can barely _breathe_ because Tim’s eyes are sorta dark and intense and they’re pinning him to the ground.

He holds Kon's gaze evenly, and though Kon's aware of the fact that he shouldn’t be listening, Tim’s heartbeat fills his ears, fast and steady.

Tim looks down at his hands, and Kon _knows_ he’s not imagining the slight flush on Tim’s face as he lifts up one particular game they haven’t played in years.

“MarioKart?”

Kon’s mouth is dry.

“Sure.”

He pulls on the Superboy shirt. It’s old and tight around his chest and shoulders. He ignores it and makes his way to sit down next to Tim.

They don’t say anything as Tim slides in the disc and the intro music begins to play. Kon fiddles with his controller as they select their usual characters. The colored light flashes across Tim’s face, highlighting his cheekbones and pooling shadow at the column of his throat. He has a freckle under his left ear.

Kon keeps wrecking on the screen in front of them, but Tim doesn’t seem to care too much because it’s not brought up.

Tim shoves him off of Rainbow Road, and this is the part where Kon is supposed to attack the other boy with a pillow in retaliation, but he only spawns again and keeps playing. Tim doesn’t look at him.

It’s too quiet to be _anything_ like when they were sixteen.

He can almost feel the tightrope they’ve been balancing on straining.

Eventually, Kon stretches his neck back and closes his eyes. There’s the sound of a car crash in the game and he knows it isn't his. Cautiously, Kon peeks one of his eyelids open and sees Tim staring at the ceiling like it owes him an explanation for why his life is going the way it is.

Kon hits the pause button and lies onto his back. He takes an unsteady breath. Another. Ma’s words bounce around in his head.

“We need to talk.”

Tim lies down next to him but doesn’t glance over. “Yeah.” His voice is very quiet.

Kon rolls over on his side to look at him. Tim’s eyes are determinedly fixed upwards and Kon lets out a small sigh. “Hey, look at me, please.”

Very slowly, Tim’s gaze moves to him. His eyes are steely blue with grey around the pupils, and they look a little lost. There are faded smudges of purple beneath them, and Kon wonders how he didn’t notice that earlier. His lips twitch down.

“When was the last time you slept?” Tim opens his mouth and Kon restates his question, “I mean _really_ slept, Tim.”

Tim closes his mouth slowly and stares at the rug underneath them. “Not for a while.” His voice is small like he’s expecting to be scolded.

Kon tilts his head. “Why not?”

A bitter laugh leaves the other boy’s throat, “Nightmares.”

Something cold squeezes Kon’s insides. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Their tightrope sways and Kon breathes and braces himself in case it snaps.

“What are they about?”

Tim’s breathing hitches and his steel eyes close tightly. “People I care about dying. You dying. What . . . What I did _after._ ”

After. Because before and after Kon’s death is all that seems to exist these days. And what happened after had not been pretty. Not at all.

“Tim—”

Tim jumps to his feet, hands running through his slightly damp hair and eyes looking at anything other than him. Kon sits up and watches his friend walk back and forth in front of the TV.

“Look, you don’t have to do this, Kon. You don’t—I’m—I’m fucked up. And I know I’m back with the team and we’ve been working together, but you don’t have to do _this—_ ” Tim gestures at the space between them vaguely—“if it freaks you out. If _I_ freak you out. I did some messed up shit, Kon, you don’t have to _stay_.”

Tim doesn’t stop pacing as Kon slowly stands, the thick rug soft under his feet.

“And I get it. Really, I get it. I went—I went _crazy_ without you. I mean, I fucking tried to clone you and now—” Tim's eyes are a little red, and he shakes his head at the ceiling—“It’s like we’re playing pretend, like everything is okay when it’s not. It’s not. _I’m_ not. And you _know_ that so why are you even still _here_?” Tim whirls around, hands splayed to the room.

Kon takes a small step towards him, palms open, like he's approaching a scared animal. The tightrope wobbles. “Because you’ve always been there for me; because you’re my _friend_.”

Another step and Tim’s staring at him almost in pain. “I’m not the same person I was, Kon. I—” Tim looks away, closes his eyes hard—“I can’t be the same _kind_ of friend that you want.”

And that makes Kon pause because there could be something to unpack with that.

Tim’s cheekbones might be flushing, it’s hard to tell with the only light coming from their abandoned game, and Kon hopes they are. He _really_ fucking hopes Tim’s implying what he thinks he’s implying. Carefully, he murmurs, “Do you think I’m the same too? Do you really think that after all the shit I’ve been through, I’d even want to be the same?” He moves closer. “That I’d want _us_ to be the same?”

Tim goes very still like he’s never thought of this before. The tightrope swings dangerously above the chasm of complicated feelings and Kon feels like it’s rushing up to meet them with all the grace and speed of a runaway train.

The multicolored lights from the game play across Tim’s face. He watches them for a moment.

“Tim, listen, I’m still here whether you think I should be or not. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, okay? You haven’t scared me away, Rob. You’re not getting rid of me. I’m not leaving—not again.” Tim’s eyes are wide and Kon takes another tiny step towards him.

Tim is giving him a look, like what Kon’s saying makes a bit of sense before he sighs and shuts his eyes. His voice has lost all its previous panic and he sounds defeated when he says, “Howare you so . . . ”

They’re really close now, and Kon can see the flickering of Tim’s eyelashes. His gaze drops down a little bit to Tim’s parted lips. “So?”

Tim’s eyes open and he shakes his head slightly and doesn’t continue. He’s staring at Kon’s mouth, and Kon sees his tongue flash across his bottom lip, making it wet.

_Fuck it_ , Kon thinks, and he leaps off the tightrope.

Tim tastes like peppermint tea, and he doesn’t move when Kon threads one of his hands through his hair and kisses him fiercely.

And Kon sorta hates himself a little bit, because there’s no way they’d still be able to be best friends after this if he misread everything. Sure, they could try, but Kon knows that it’ll all be forced and even more awkward than this entire evening has been, and one of the greatest friendships in his life is now lying possibly ruined on Tim’s bedroom floor.

He pulls away, a billion apologies already thundering through his head but they all stick in his throat, and he looks at the ground. Tim stares at him, eyes round.

“Shit, I’m so—”

Tim hauls him forward by his too-tight shirt and kisses him.

_Oh._

Kon’s hands seem to understand what’s going on much faster than his brain because they’re quickly sliding back into Tim’s hair and along Tim’s neck and are tracing his jaw, and Tim is groaning, or maybe that’s Kon, it’s kinda hard to tell. Tim’s fingers grasp the Superboy logo at his chest, and his other hand presses against the side of Kon’s face. His thumb brushes Kon’s cheekbone and Kon makes another noise.

One of Kon’s hands slides down to grip Tim’s waist, pulling him closer until Tim is fully up against him; his muscles truly relaxed for the first time since God knows how long. Tim nips at Kon’s bottom lip then Kon’s mouth parts open and Tim’s tongue is  _in_ his mouth, and somebody taught Tim how to kiss because he’s _really good at it_.

Kon sends that somebody a silent _thank you_ as the other boy’s lips suddenly escape Kon’s and move to his throat. Leaving him to pant against Tim's ear, more than slightly disoriented. 

He's never wanted like this before, not with Cassie, not with Tana. Never wanted to touch and feel and  _know_  like he wants right now. Maybe it's because of all the built-up tension, but there's something so amazingly  _right_ about this. About the way Tim’s tongue traces down his neck, ending the trail with a small bite that Kon is sure would bruise if he was human, but only makes him drop his head back and groan.

He feels Tim grin against neck and Kon drags a palm up Tim’s back, under his shirt. Tim shivers, and now Kon’s the one who’s grinning as he brings his head back down to nip at Tim’s ear. He’s granted another shudder when he soothes the sting with his tongue, and Kon files away that interesting information for later.

Tim’s back is littered with scars, and even though Kon has seen them in the showers, he’s never gotten to _touch_ them, and his fingers begin to map out where old battle wounds have healed over. His head feels light and he tries to drag Tim even closer, like the other boy can ground him and keep him from floating away.

He plays with the hem of Tim’s shirt, tugging lightly, and wonders if Tim’s even okay with going that far. Cause Kon’s totally fine with what they’re doing right now if Tim isn’t cool with losing clothes yet—

Tim takes a step back and for a second Kon’s about to apologize, but Tim only rips off his t-shirt, gaze hot blue steel and completely fixed on him. _Jesus._ The sound that leaves Kon’s throat might be a whimper as the other boy immediately goes back to kissing his nape. And there’s bare skin now, and Tim’s rolling his hips, and Kon wouldn’t mind moving to a horizontal surface. Or a wall.

Honestly, he’s pretty sure he could pull off something in the air if he wanted to.

He’s also definitely hard now. Definitely.

Their mouths meet and Tim is laughing into him before pulling back just enough so that Kon can look at his eyes. They’re amused and full of something that Kon can’t put into the right words at the moment.

Tim laughs again before murmuring against his jaw, “You’re floating.”

Kon blinks.

He looks at his feet and, _yeah_ , he’s an inch or two off the ground, hovering from excitement. He lowers himself down, and his ears feel hot, but Tim’s still grinning at him so he’s not too embarrassed.

Kon kisses him again and then one of Tim’s hands interlocks with his and tugs him in the direction of the bedroom.

They end up falling against a wall just outside of the doorway, Kon’s shoulders pressing into the drywall while Tim’s hands play with the edge of his boxers. Tim pulls away suddenly, brows making a little crease as he brings them together.

“Is this okay?”

Kon bobs his head up and down. “This is very much okay. Trust me, I am so, _so_ okay with this.”

Tim grins, and it’s so goddamn _real_ , and hauls him into his room.

He barely notices the paper-covered desk on one side and the big skylights on the ceiling. There’s only Tim, smiling warmly in the dark with the pitter-patter of the rain above as they stumble their way to the bed.

Kon’s back hits the mattress, Tim’s knees on either side of his waist, and he’s pressing Kon into the sheets, mouth hot and wet. One of Kon’s hand drops to Tim’s ass and tugs the other boy down so that the space between them disappears, and _fuck_ Tim’s just as hard as he is and a startled moan comes out of one of them.

The kiss breaks when Tim leans back, and all of his weight is _right_ on Kon’s dick, and Kon couldn’t keep his hips from bucking up even if he wanted to. Tim’s reaching for the bottom of his Superboy shirt, pulling it off so it lands on the floor and _thank God_ for Kon’s TTK; because when Tim leans up on his knees, Kon’s able to slip his shorts off without having to move his hands from Tim’s hair.

For a second, all Kon can do is stare.

Tim is skin and scars above him, and there’s a slash of healing red on his thigh, like he’d been cut there at some recent point. His cock is slender and long and flushed a darker pink than the blush on his cheeks. Kon distantly wonders what it might taste like.

Tim raises an eyebrow and snaps the elastic of Kon’s boxers.

Kon shivers and then laughs when he flips them over and Tim yelps as he hits the bed.

It barely takes a second for Tim to recover and scowl up at Kon who grins in response. Then Tim’s hands are dragging down Kon’s ass, taking his underwear with them. Kon kicks the clothes off the bed and turns back to see Tim’s eyes moving over his body until they meet Kon’s gaze.

The hunger from earlier fades a bit.

He stares at Tim for a second, at the small smile on his face, and feels warmth spread all the way down to his fingertips.

Slowly, Tim lifts his head and presses his lips against Kon’s, still tasting like tea. One of his hands reaches up to Kon’s hair, tugging it gently, and Kon lowers himself until their bodies are lined up and he can feel the slide of Tim’s cock against his own. A shaky moan falls from Tim’s open mouth, and Kon shudders against him. He moves his hand from his friend’s jaw, down to where they’re grinding together, and takes Tim in his palm.

“ _Fuck_.” There’s a groan against his neck, and Tim knots his hands further into Kon’s hair.

Tim is pulsing in his hand, heavy and solid. Kon lets his thumb circle the tip of the other boy’s leaking cock before beginning to stroke up and down the length of it. Tim trembles.

“We should do this again,” Kon says conversationally, and Tim lightly slaps the back of his head. Kon twists his fist in retaliation and that makes Tim’s hips jerk and his back arch.

“Yeah, sure, why not?” Tim’s voice is _wrecked_ , gasping out the words, and he really wouldn’t mind making Tim sound like this more often.

His hand moves faster, and Tim is pushing back, thrusting up against Kon’s fist, heels digging into the bedsheets. He brings his mouth to where Tim’s neck meets his shoulder, licking before biting down. Tim cries out, and Kon’s dick twitches in response because _holy shit_ that’s hot.

He uncurls his grasp and runs his fingers up the underside of Tim’s cock. A string of curses streams out of Tim’s mouth, along with what Kon’s pretty sure is his name. He repeats the motion, watching the way Tim's pants are becoming more and more ragged. Kon moves his head lower, lips trailing to one nipple, and he breathes over it wetly before flicking his tongue out and tasting skin.

Tim’s hands clutch at his hair as Kon marks his way across his chest, and Kon knows he’s close, can feel the way Tim is shaking and gripping on to him harder than before. He brushes his fingers against Tim's cock again, too gentle to really grant any relief.

“Damnit, Kon, _please!”_  And how could he say no to _that_?

It takes three hard strokes to make Tim gasp and come, white spilling into Kon’s hand and onto their stomachs.

Tim slumps into the mattress, eyes closed, sprawled open, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. Kon presses his thumb over the slit of Tim’s dick and the other boy whines shakily and gives a little roll of his hips, face glazing with pleasure.

Then, Tim blinks up at him, still completely blissed out, and Kon sears that sight into his memory. Without looking away, Kon passes his fingers through the mess on his stomach and brings them to his mouth. His tongue curls around one fingertip and Tim’s eyes flicker with the motion. It doesn’t taste that bad. A bit bitter and salty, maybe, but the narrowing of Tim’s stare is totally worth it.

The ache between his legs throbs.

Tim smirks up at him.

Kon is flipped onto his back, Tim doing some crazy Bat-move to get him there, and he stares up at the skylights, Tim nowhere in sight. Then he feels strong hands on his thighs and a breath over his hip and _oh._

That’s where he went.

Tim’s mouth is hot and wet and _fucking amazing_ , and Kon has never been so thankful that Damian’s room is nowhere near Tim’s and that the house is nearly empty. His moan is loud enough that there’s no way someone wouldn’t hear him. He manages to lift his neck to look down at where Tim’s tongue is wrapping around the head of his cock and meets Tim’s smooth gaze. There’s a smug glint in his eyes, and now Tim’s mouth is going lower, taking in more, and Kon nearly _sobs_.

One of his hands reaches down, palming dark hair and rubbing Tim’s head with his fingers. Tim hums, and the _vibrations_ from that one single sound make Kon’s hips jerk and his dick slide into Tim’s throat a little further. And this is definitely something they need to do again, because it's so good and Kon wants.

He wants and fuck,  _fuck_ how is Tim fucking Drake somehow a goddamn wet dream in bed?  _How_?

Kon’s other hand scrabbles at the pillows above him, trying to anchor himself, but that’s hard to do when Tim is doing something with his tongue that makes Kon nearly start begging when he pulls away. He looks back down where Tim's lips have left his dick and been replaced with his hand, since Tim is now biting the insides of his thighs. A small part of Kon curses at his skin's stupid invulnerability because the thought of being covered in bruises left from Tim's mouth is ridiculously hot.

Suddenly he feels intense heat in the back of his eyes, his vision turning red at the edges, and Kon screws his stare shut. He does _not_ want to set Tim on fire during the middle of a blow job. That would be so uncool.

He hears Tim laugh at him from between his legs, so he lightly shoves at his friend's side with his foot. Tim's mouth goes back to his cock and Kon groans.

His fingers tangle in the other boy’s hair. “ _Tim—_ ”

Tim only sucks harder.

Kon arches and comes with a loud curse. Distantly he feels Tim swallow, and that causes him to shiver, grind his hips up into Tim’s mouth just a bit. He rubs his eyes, the heat vision already fading away. His body feels loose, _good_.

Tim pulls off of his cock and sits up, wiping at the corner of his mouth, and Kon blinks at him, dazed.

His hair is messy from Kon’s hands and damp with sweat, sticking to the corners of his face. His nape, chest, and shoulders are littered with several marks that are definitely gonna bruise, and that makes Kon feel oddly pleased with himself. 

Tim is watching him, rubbing his thumb in little circles over Kon’s hipbone, lips twitched upwards. Kon doesn't really want to move, so he tugs at Tim’s hand gently until the other boy leans down, grabs his shorts off the bed, and cleans up the mess on their skin. This isn’t quite what Kon wants, and he makes a dissatisfied noise and tugs again. Tim rolls his eyes and throws the clothing to a corner of the room before lying on top of Kon, muttering, “Like you’d want to be covered with that stuff while you’re sleeping.”

Kon doesn’t bother answering, and only buries his face into Tim’s shoulder, grinning. Tim still smells a bit like rain and body wash, but now there’s a linger of sex over that, and Kon runs his hands up and down Tim’s warm back, breathing him in.

Tim exhales against his neck and plays with the slightly curly strands of hair at the base of Kon’s head.

Kon practically melts into the pillows.

Tim goes stiff in his arms.

“This—” Tim sits up, legs entangled with Kon’s, and puts a hand on Kon's bare chest—“This isn’t a one-time thing, right?” Tim’s voice is a guilty whisper, scared almost, as if Kon is already regretting what just happened. “You’re not going to leave?”

Kon stares at him for a second, disbelief and _hurt_ curling around his heart.

Then he remembers all the funerals that Tim’s had to go to in the past year. He remembers the one time he went to Tim’s house, back when his parents were both still alive, and how _empty_ it was. He remembers asking Tim where his folks were, and how Tim had gotten very quiet before shrugging and muttering that he didn’t know.

Slowly, Kon sits up, Tim still in his lap, and examines the other boy’s face.

“Hey, I’m not gonna go anywhere.”

Tim sags against him, like the weight of the world has slid right off his shoulders. “That was a stupid question.”

“It wasn’t.” Kon brushes back a strand of hair that fell in front of Tim’s forehead. He kisses him softly. “I get it. It wasn’t.”

He doesn’t move until Tim nods in agreement.

Kon pulls him back down and uses his TTK to slide the thick covers over them. Tim shifts around so they can meet each other’s gaze. Something snags in the back of Kon’s mind.

“Ma wants you to come over for dinner, by the way.”

Tim laughs, the sound soft in the dark.

“Sure.”

Kon reaches over and smooths his thumb across Tim’s cheek, still flushed from earlier, before kissing him again. Tim makes a pleased noise and returns the action, his hand going to Kon’s waist to tug him closer.

They break apart, dropping back onto the pillows, Kon’s fingers tracing over the scars on Tim’s arm. Tim blinks sleepily at him but raises a brow. “So, are you going with that name Jon made up?” He brushes back several strands of Kon’s hair. “Supernova?”

Kon closes his eyes and leans into Tim’s palm. “Has a nice ring to it.”

Tim nods, tapping his fingertips against Kon’s temple thoughtfully.

“Whatever you say, Superdude.”

Kon whacks him with a pillow.

 

*****

 

When he opens his eyes, he can’t speak.

He can’t speak because there are tubes in his throat, up his nose, pumping him with oxygen. The steady humming of droning machines fills his ears. He stares.

Everything’s green, but not like the green of Ma’s spring flowers, this green is _sick_ and presses down on him from all sides. And he’s surrounded by something wet and slimy, little bubbles rising past his face like he's in a fish tank. He tries to shake his head, but everything feels heavy even though he's suspended in the liquid around him. Blurry figures walk towards him, muffled voices fading in and out. 

There’s the sound of thudded tapping on the glass. He starts to focus, but still isn’t able to blink the wet stuff out of his eyes.

He sees white coats, Cadmus printed on the pocket.

Fuck, _fuck_.

“Kon?”

There’s a beam of light shining in his face, causing the green to glow, almost like kryptonite but so much worse. It makes him want to throw up. Want to get out.

“Kon.”

There's something else too, moving in on him from the corners of his eyes. Something creeping and peaceful, heavy and familiar in the worst way.

He remembers it, how it settled down on him as he lay surrounded by crushed metal and begging friends, his bones broken, lungs gasping with final breaths. It had been dark and calm and he hadn't wanted to go, but it had closed in on him anyway. And he can't go back, he  _can't_.

There's a fist pounding in front of him, and the voices don't match the furious knocking, too cold and clean.

He tries to thrash away from the glass, tries to _get away._ But he can’t move, weighed down, and even though there’s air in his lungs, he _can’t breathe._

“ _Conner!_ ”

Kon's back hits the mattress and he shoots up, gulping down mouthfuls of oxygen. There are hands running over his back, his shoulders, a worried voice somewhere behind him. His eyes flit around his surroundings. No green, no waiting darkness. He can breathe. Raindrops are hitting the glass above him. Tim’s room. Safe.

This is safe.

He runs a sweaty hand through his hair, shaking. His arm brushes his cheek and he realizes that his face is wet. He hasn’t had one of those dreams in a long time; he’d forgotten what they were like.

“Hey.” Kon looks behind him. Tim is rubbing a spot between his shoulder blades, eyes alert, biting his lip. The sheets are pooled around his waist haphazardly.

Kon twists the patterned covers in his hands.

“What happened?”

He looks up through the dark. Tim’s fingers go over his shoulder. “Nightmare.” He wants to forget it. Forget the labs, and the endless experiments, and all the goddamn _green_. “Cadmus.” 

Tim doesn’t make any sounds, but Kon can almost hear his brain whirring at full speed.

His breathing is too loud in the quiet.

“What do you need?” Tim’s voice is patient.

He fists the cloth in his grip. Opens his mouth, shuts it. Tries again. “Just—Keep doing that.” Tim’s hands run down his skin, grounding and warm, and Kon begins to relax into them.

“Does touch help?” Tim is near his ear, and Kon feels lips press lightly across his neck. He nods.

“Yeah, it—It helps me feel . . . “ He shuts his eyes. “Human. It helps me feel human.”

Tim places a kiss at the corner of his jaw. “Okay, then.” He presses his back against Tim’s scarred chest, and the other boy leans backward so they’re lying down again. Kon rests his head over where Tim’s heart is beating steadily. He listens to the familiar sound, to the rain, to Tim's breathing; ignores the distant honks of traffic and chattering crowds of Gotham. 

He exhales slowly, lets his shoulders loosen under Tim's hands. He closes his eyes. 

“Thanks.”

Fingers run through his hair.

“You’re welcome.”

Kon doesn’t move for a long time. Neither does Tim.

 

*****

 

It’s still raining when Kon wakes up the second time, but there’s a bit of grey sunlight coming through the skylights; enough for him to drowsily blink at the ceiling. He groans and rolls over, towards the warmth by his side.

Warmth.

_Tim._

He’s completely awake now, lifting himself up onto his forearms. Curiously, Kon examines the boy next to him. Tim’s still asleep, heartbeat slow and calm, his back facing Kon though their legs are tangled together. The covers had slipped a bit during the night and Kon can see the pale scars his mouth had mapped out hours ago.

He touches a jagged one, curved like someone had carved it in, and smooths his fingertip down it. He moves to the next. Distantly, Kon wonders if he’d get to go over all of them, even if that could take a while because Tim has so many. He doesn’t mind. His fingers trace across an old bullet wound.

Saturday mornings can last a while.

Tim shifts, back leaving Kon’s touch, shoulders rolling into a stretch. He watches the muscles under Tim’s skin bunch together and move apart. His friend flops over to look at him.

Tim's eyelids are drooping as he yawns into his pillow. “What time is it?”

Kon lifts himself up and glances at the digital clock on the nightstand. “Eightish." Before he lies back down, his eyes catch on a little picture frame next to the clock. 

It's a recent photo, he can tell from the haircut he has in it, and he can easily place the day when it was taken. 

Bart had insisted on dragging them with him to go shopping for dorm furniture, which Kon didn't understand considering the tiny sizes of the rooms at any of their new colleges, but whatever. They had stopped for ice cream, sat outside and watched people stroll by.

He doesn't remember the exact moment from the picture itself, maybe Bart had said something funny or maybe one of Tim's dry quips had sent them all into laughter. Either way, it ended with a photo that Cassie must have taken; with Bart leaning inside the frame with a huge grin on his face, him with his head thrown back, smiling, and Tim laughing at both of them. 

He stares at it, feels a dopey smile stretch across his face.     

Tim hums, watching Kon lazily. “I forgot that you sleepfloat.”

His eyes flick back to Tim.

“I what?”

“Sleepfloat.” Tim lifts the one brow that’s not burrowed into his pillow and gestures vaguely with his hand. “You know, you’ll start hovering sometimes, usually when you’re dreaming?” He frowns. “That’s one of the reasons I knew you were having a nightmare; you were almost half a foot off the bed. Usually, you only go up, like, barely an inch.”

Kon continues staring at him because _what?_

“Since when do I _sleepfloat_?”

Tim blinks. “Uh, since forever. It doesn't happen a lot, I thought you knew?”

He shakes his head. Tim laughs lightly, the sound muffled by fabric. Kon sorta wants to kiss him. He also sorta wants breakfast. “Do you guys have some kind of scheduled eating time on the weekends?”

Tim ducks further under the covers. “Not really, I can ask Alfred to make something. Or we can raid the pantries.”

Kon thinks for a moment. He doesn’t know what time Alfred wakes up, but for some reason, he wants to avoid asking for anything. Wants to stay in this bubble where it’s only Tim and him for a little bit longer.

“What if we make pancakes?”

Tim’s cheeks suddenly turn red and he mumbles under his breath. Kon pokes him in the shoulder, silently asking for a repeat of the comment. Tim sighs.

“I’m . . . currently banned from using the kitchen.”

Kon tilts his head. “We were in there last night. You made tea.”

It had been good tea. It had been especially good when he’d gotten to taste it off of Tim’s mouth.

Tim grumbles, “Fine. I’m currently banned from using the oven, stove, grill, and microwave for anything other than boiling water.”

Kon's eyes narrow. “What did you do?”

Tim hesitates. “I may have created several small, controlled explosions.”

“You _what_?”

“They were _small._ ”

“Oh my God, that’s not the point.” Kon’s kinda snickering now, and Tim is too, and Kon really wants to kiss him again. So he does.

Tim’s smiling when he pulls away, and Kon presses their foreheads together. “How about I make us food, yeah?” Their noses brush and Tim’s arms wrap around his neck. His lips move against Kon’s when he nods in agreement.

“Yeah.”

Their legs intertwine even more, and the next kiss is heated, Tim’s hands dragging across Kon’s skin in a way that reminds him of last night. He resists the urge to push their hips completely together. When they break for air, Tim’s cheekbones are lightly flushed, and he’s smirking in a way that makes Kon remember the grin bad guys see right before Red Robin turns all their careful plans to shit.

Tim pushes Kon over onto his back, lips suddenly much more demanding, and straddles his waist. Kon kisses him back just as fervently, mouth following Tim’s a bit when the other boy suddenly pulls away.

Tim’s eyes are catching the cool morning light in all the right ways and Kon’s heart trips over its feet.

Then Tim _isn't_ on his lap, sliding off the bed and walking away. And okay, that’s a bit rude, but Kon gets to stare at Tim’s ass, so he’s not going to complain just yet. But then Tim tosses him a grin over his shoulder, meeting Kon’s gaze smugly before reaching down and grabbing something off the floor. He comes back up, pulling on the piece of clothing smoothly.

Kon’s mouth drops open.

Tim gives him an amused glance, seemingly unconcerned with the Superboy logo stretching across his chest. Because apparently, Tim has filled out enough that he can now wear Kon’s old shirts without drowning in fabric. When that happened, Kon has no idea, but he certainly doesn’t mind.

Tim cocks an eyebrow. “Pancakes? You coming or not?”

Kon tries to make words leave his throat, but only manages a strangled, “Hngh.” Tim nods, like this is an answer, pivots on his foot, and leaves the room. Kon stares after him. He buries his burning face in his hands.

It’s too early for Tim to do things like this to him.

With a sigh of resignation, he gets off the bed and, after some searching, puts on his boxers. When he walks out of the doorway, he’s hit in the face with a large Gotham Knights sweatshirt and his jeans. He shoots Tim a displeased grunt and tugs the sweatshirt over his head. Tim’s wearing some flannel pajama pants now, which is rather disappointing, but the Superboy shirt is still on so Kon takes pleasure from that.

After pulling on his no-longer-wet jeans, he floats to where Tim is leaning against the wall and kisses him in a way that would make old ladies scandalized. Tim’s face has dropped its smugness when they break apart, and he seems slightly dazed.

Kon pecks his jaw for good measure. “Food?”

He gets a slow nod in return. Kon grins and walks out of Tim’s room with a little bounce in his step. He hears Tim mutter a curse and scramble after him, and he snickers.

The light filling the Manor’s halls is weak, but it’s enough to create streaking shadows on the walls as Kon runs down the corridor with Tim hot on his heels. Their feet pound down the stairs and Kon might use a _tiny_ bit of superspeed to get to the kitchen first.

Tim enters seconds after him and slumps against the kitchen island even though he’s barely out of breath. He points an accusing finger at Kon. “Cheater.”

Kon grins and starts opening up random cabinets, hoping to find a mixing bowl. “Maybe.” He spies one and sets it on the island. “Where’s the flour?” The other boy gestures to the pantry and then lifts himself to sit on the counter.

Kon can feel Tim’s eyes on him as he moves around the room, finding and taking the ingredients he needs. Every once in a while, their gazes meet and little smiles appear.

If he's honest with himself, Kon has no idea what this new thing between them is exactly. But he thinks it’s good. Tim glances at him again as he begins to mix the batter, eyes lighter than they’ve been in a while. 

It’s pretty good.

Tim slips off his perch and pads up behind him, resting his chin on Kon’s shoulder. “Last time I watched you make pancakes was at the farm. You almost caught the house on fire.” Kon shrugs.

“Ma’s made it her personal mission that I know how to move around a kitchen. She’s had me baking and cooking a lot since I came back from—” He stops himself. Memories from the nightmare surface, cool darkness waiting for him to fall. He shivers, looks down at the pancake batter, suddenly feeling like he's going to be sick. He forces himself to take a deep breath.

Tim is stiff behind him, hands fisting into his sweatshirt, and Kon could punch himself in the face. He really could.

“Dude?”

Tim unfreezes, leans his forehead against the back of Kon’s neck. Kon can feel his fingers clenching and unclenching his clothes.

They’re quiet for several beats.

“You get it, right? That I’m not okay? Not entirely?” Tim sounds so _tired_ like this is the kind of thing he tells himself every night, and it makes Kon’s stomach twist. He turns around, strokes his thumb over Tim’s cheekbone, makes sure that Tim is looking him in the eyes.

“Yeah, man, I understand.” He thinks of the chemical green and the even darker things that crawl into his mind during the bad nights. He shudders. “I’m not either.” He tilts his head, brow furrowing. “Is that okay with you?”

Tim examines him for a long moment; his eyes probably seeing more of Kon than Kon could see in himself. And whatever Tim sees makes him lean in a bit closer.

“Yeah, it is. And this,” he taps Kon’s chest, right above his heart, “us?”

Kon brushes back several strands of Tim’s hair, thinking carefully.

“Whatever you want. I’m good with just staying friends, though, you know, the sex could be pretty awesome.” Tim snorts. “But I wouldn’t mind taking this somewhere,” he says and laces their hands together. “I really wouldn’t mind.”

Tim smiles. “Yeah?”

Kon smiles back.

“Yeah.”

Lips press against his and Kon’s hand threads through Tim’s hair, his back pushing into the counter as Tim steps closer.

Tim laughs, his fingers going around the spoon in Kon’s drooping grasp, probably to keep pancake batter from going everywhere. There’s the clatter of wood hitting ceramic as Tim drops the spoon into the bowl, and Kon distantly wonders if they’ll ever actually get around to eating breakfast.

But Tim’s mouth is lazy and open and a hell of a lot better than pancakes.

He drapes his arms around Tim's neck as the other boy's palms smooth around his waist, drawing him closer.  

_So_ much better than pancakes.

“It seems that I will be tasked to make my own breakfast since you two seem quite intent on being _occupied._ ”

Kon’s lips leave Tim's and his head whips to where Damian is standing in the doorway, arms crossed and mouth an unimpressed line.

_Shit._

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He desperately looks back at Tim, who seems just as surprised since he only manages a weak, “Um.”

Damian sniffles and Alfred the cat waltzes into the room and rubs around the boy’s legs. Damian leans down and picks the cat up, managing to keep his narrowed eyes on them the whole time. Tim’s hands still haven’t moved from where they’d just begun playing with the hair at Kon’s nape, his fingers rubbing at the base of Kon’s neck. It’s a little distracting. Kon tries to think of something to say and clears his throat awkwardly.

“Uh, you want pancakes?”

Damian raises an eyebrow and pets the top of Alfred’s head. “Later, perhaps. Both of you appear . . . busy. Besides, I need to tell Pennyworth that he won our bet from last night, considering how I thought it’d take you two another week to figure yourselves out.”

Kon blinks. “You . . . made a _bet_ on us?”

The kid nods almost regretfully. “Which I have apparently lost.” His sharp eyes stare at the batter pointedly. “Though you could make up for it with food. I prefer chocolate chips in my pancakes, don’t forget.”

Slowly, Kon bobs his head up and down. “Yeah, sure.”

Damian flashes him what might be a tiny smile, but then he turns on his heel and walks out of the room, footsteps and Alfred’s purrs echoing down the hall.

Tim’s gaze clears, and Kon can see his brain rebooting. Then Tim shoots him a disgruntled look. “Aren’t _Supers_ supposed to have _super_ hearing?”

Kon shrugs. “I was distracted.”

Tim shakes his head at the ceiling while his hands run through Kon’s hair. Kon places a kiss on his neck.

Tim swats the back of his head. “New rule: No making out when siblings or parents could be lurking behind corners.”

Kon grumbles, “You have too many siblings for that to be realistic.”

“That’s true.” His lips press against Tim’s throat again, and he feels Tim breathe in a shaky laugh. “I take it back. The new rule is not to get caught making out when siblings or parents could be lurking behind corners.”

“You may want to add butlers to that as well, Master Timothy.”

This time, they practically leap apart.

Kon’s eyes dart to where Alfred is standing by the entrance to the dining room, not looking very impressed. He can feel his face quickly growing hot under the man’s unreadable stare, and he folds his hands behind his back like a six-year-old who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Tim mutters something under his breath as his hand rubs the back of his neck, and the old man’s brow lifts.

“Would you care to repeat that, Master Timothy?”

Tim straightens up, and Kon can see the tips of ears are bright red. “No?”

“That’s what I thought.” He turns to Kon calmly. “And how are you, Mr. Kent?” Kon’s eyes flicker to where Tim is looking like he wants to jump off a cliff in mortification. His lips twitch upwards just a little, he hears an impatient cough. He glances back to Alfred nervously.

When did the old butler get so _scary_?

“Pretty good, um,” he distantly remembers something from last night, “Ma wants to ask for your snickerdoodle recipe.” He resists the urge to smooth out the sweatshirt he’s wearing as Alfred studies him. He gives a weak smile. “She’s offered to give you her instructions for blueberry pie as an incentive.”

Alfred considers him for a moment.

“Well, then I suppose I shall have to talk to her then.” He gives them both a knowing side-eye. “And do remember that the kitchen is for food and that there are plenty of private rooms in this house for more . . . _lascivious_ activities.”

Kon wishes he could sink into the floor.

Tim drops his face in his hands. “Thanks, Alfred,” he mumbles.

Alfred brushes an invisible speck of dust off of his sleeve. “Now, excuse me, I do believe I have a wager to collect from Master Damian.” He begins to walk out of the room but stops and gives Kon a smart glance. “And please make sure that Master Timothy doesn’t start any more fires in this room than he already has, Mr. Kent.”

Tim’s head shoots up with a look of betrayal and Kon has to bite his lip to keep from sniggering.

“Yes, sir.”

Alfred’s steps are unruffled as he walks to the hall. “Considering how I’m sure you’ll be around this house much more often, you may as well as call me Alfred.”

Kon’s face grows warmer.

“Um, sure thing, Alfred.”

The butler dips his head in approval and leaves. Kon can hear him begin to whistle a cheerful tune a couple of rooms away.

It takes both of them several seconds to be able to look at each other. Tim’s cheeks puff out as he exhales slowly. His ears are still pink. Kon rubs the hardwood floor with his toe. “So, uh . . . Huh.”

“We need to work on your multitasking. Things like using your super hearing while you’re . . . being distracted.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Shut it, Superdude, and make our food.”

“That rhymed.”

“I don’t understand why I like you.”

“I’ll remind you exactly why later tonight.”

Tim smacks him with a dish towel, and Kon laughs before kissing him again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Leap, Fall, Fly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20351017) by [read_by_Sophie (Sophie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie/pseuds/read_by_Sophie)




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